Thursday, October 30, 2014

Gargoyles, tree witches, and wolf shifters have divided the
Isle of Stone after a great battle twenty-five years ago. When Kayla, a tree
witch, hears about the unconventional rock concerts in the gargoyle’s
territory, she sneaks from her coven and into their territory to see for
herself. Night after night, she returns to see one in particular shift into
human form and play guitar at these unconventional shows.

For several nights, Mason has kept watch for the pixie-like
female. He plans to seduce her, thinking she’s a visitor from another island.
When he discovers she’s one of the tree witches, he retreats, attempting to
keep his distance. The temptation is strong, but forbidden.

Kayla and Mason attempt to meet in secret, but other
elements on the isle command their attention. A magical cloak created by the
three clans on the island is thinning, leading to repercussions for all the
clans. Kayla and Mason are caught in the middle of it, and their actions may
change the fate for all.

This novella was originally released as part of the USA
Today bestselling Highland Shifters paranormal romance boxed set.

Excerpt

The crowd pushed Kayla closer
to the stage as the last trails of fiery sunset faded. They knew what happened
once darkness fell. She recovered her footing and focused again on the five
life-sized stone gargoyles perched on pedestals on the perimeter of the stage.
The space between them was set with instruments—guitars, a drum set, mic
stands, and massive amplifiers, while a bonfire in a pit behind them cast the
statues in a warm glow.

A stagehand
with tartan draped over one shoulder climbed onto the stage and walked to the
closest statue. He fastened the kilt over its shoulder and around its waist
with a thick belt, covering the statue’s massive thighs. Kayla flushed,
picturing why the coverings were necessary once the transformation began. The
kilt had become a key detail in her fantasies about the guitarist, since it was
the only clothing he wore. The stagehand continued dressing each statue with
the same brilliant blue tartan worn by the gargoyle clan.

The last
vestige of sunlight disappeared from the sky, and night draped the stage like a
closing curtain. The statues loomed, dark silhouettes barely discernible by the
crescent moon with the backdrop of the craggy cliffs and the rugged peaks of
waves in the Atlantic Ocean behind them. The murmur of voices was replaced by
silence. Waiting…

Five torches
blazed on the stage all at once, lit by an unseen force. The audience erupted
in cheers as the dancing lights from the flickering fire basked the statues.
The flames lowered, casting the gargoyles in an eerie, almost reverent glow.

Movement. So
slight, Kayla wondered if it was simply a play of light and shadows in her anticipation
for the change. She fixed her gaze on the statue in front of her, the one she’d
gravitated to each time she’d had sneaked out to see the show. Its massive gray
form stood straight on two legs built for sturdiness. Its chest jutted out
proudly. Gray wings with detailed feathers etched in the stone arched from a
point below its shoulder blades. Eyes cast straight ahead on a face that
appeared to be a mixture of canine and lion. Its right hand twitched, so
slightly she would have missed it if she hadn’t stared so intently. Then a
clawed foot inched forward.

Murmurs of
astonishment burst from the crowd as the transformation began. Their cries of
fervor grew louder as the monstrous statues transformed into taller, slimmer
figures with the bronzed skin of warriors who battled under the midday sun. The
tartan fabric fell over their thighs as they stood erect, covering their
nudity.

Kayla barely
blinked, mesmerized as always, as the statue before her stood to full height,
taking on the form of a human male, but with beautiful raven wings. Hair just
as black snaked rebelliously past his chin. The stony eyes flickered with
animation, turning to a mossy green. His deep gaze seared the audience, seeming
to burn anything in the path. When he found Kayla, he stopped. His expression
was unreadable, but the intensity in his unblinking eyes made her swallow. She
froze under the scrutiny as if hypnotized, unable to break eye contact. Her
stomach lurched, heart pounded, and every muscle in her body tightened, fueled
with blood now scorching through her veins. His penetrating appraisal affected
her so. When his eyes took on a smoldering glint, her skin tingled and a
red-hot awareness grew between her thighs.

He broke the
stare and continued to assess the audience. She gasped, not realizing she had
been holding her breath, and panted while she tried to breathe at a normal
rate.

He turned on
robust legs and strode to a guitar stand. She tore her eyes from him to note
the other gargoyles. They, too, had shifted into the form of striking males.
One had black hair draped further down his back, one had long blond hair, and
two had reddish-brown hair—one wavy and shaggy, the other straight. They took
their place at other instruments. She sought the guitarist again and caught the
first sound of the pick striking the strings. On hearing the guitar projected
through the amp, the crowd roared again, pressing Kayla forward.

The freak show
was about to begin.

Spotlights
flooded the musicians, powered by solar panels near a massive amplifier. The
guitarist continued playing and the others joined in, playing a raucous
crossover between hard rock and heavy metal. The one with long blond hair
grabbed hold of the microphone and belted out a shattering cry that sounded
like a call to battle. The crowd went pin drop silent to listen and then
cheered in unison as the band played on. The front man sang piercing growls and
low croons about the Knights in Stone, the protectors of the ancient forests,
battling against the evil tree witches.

Lisa Carlisle is a USA Today Bestselling author of romance
and suspense. She loves stories with dark, brooding heroes and independent,
caring heroines. Her travels have provided her with inspiration for
various settings in her novels, including deployments while she served in the
Marines. She lived in Parris Island, the California desert, and Okinawa, Japan.
She also backpacked alone through Europe, and lived in Paris, France, as an au
pair before returning to the U.S. and buying a book store. She now lives and
works in New England with her husband, two children, a cat, and many
fish.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Eve
Harmon has always enjoyed Christmas, but this year it reminds her of everything
she doesn’t have. Almost all her friends are married now, and that’s what Eve
wants, too. Love. A husband and kids of her own. But the B-and-B she manages
and even Whiskey Creek, the small Gold Country town where she was born and
raised, suddenly seem…confining.

As
Eve turns thirty-five, she’s worried that her future will simply be a
reflection of her past. She’s dated all the eligible men in the area. There’s
no one she could even imagine as a husband—until a handsome stranger comes to
town. Eve’s definitely attracted to him, and he seems to have the same reaction
to her. But his darkly mysterious past could ruin Eve’s happily ever after—just
when it finally seems within reach. Just when she’s counting on the best
Christmas of her life!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EXCERPTS

Moving slowly to compensate for her hangover, she managed to
prop herself against the headboard and, once there, frowned at her bedmate.

Who the heck was he?

She had no idea, but she was relieved to see that he was no
bum off the street. He wasn’t even one of those “he looked a lot more
attractive last night” kind of pickups everyone joked about. This guy was so
far above average that she began to wonder why he wasn’t already taken. Heaven
forbid that was the case! She didn’t see a ring on his left hand, which rested
on the pillow above his head. But he had to have some story. If he looked this
good sleep-tousled, she could only imagine what he’d be like once he had a
chance to clean up.

It was his bone structure, she decided. Those pronounced
cheekbones. The narrow bridge across his nicely shaped nose. The distinct ridge
of his upper eye sockets. He also had a strong chin and a manly jaw, which
certainly didn’t detract.

So maybe she couldn’t point to just one or two features.
With his long, sandy-colored hair spread across his pillow, he resembled a
fallen angel—and his body further enhanced that image. Although bedding covered
his lower half—thank goodness—she could see his torso. He was built like a
greyhound or panther, lean and sinewy and ideally proportioned with very little
body hair. What body hair he did have was golden and downy, as appealing as his
tanned skin.

He’d make a nice subject for a painter, she mused, someone
looking for refined masculine beauty—a man who could even be called elegant.

But not everything about him was elegant. When she looked
closer, she could see that he had some very unusual scars….

What types of injuries could’ve caused those? she wondered.
It seemed to her that he’d been shot, and more than once. Several round,
bullet-size marks dotted his chest. Then there was a long, jagged scar on his
side that must’ve come from something else….

Out of nowhere—he didn’t open his eyes first, so she had no
warning—he grabbed her wrists in a crushing grip and slammed her onto her back.

Eve gasped as she stared up at him. Gone was the image of an
angel, fallen or otherwise. Shocked at being so easily and unexpectedly
overpowered, she couldn’t even scream. His fierce expression, as if he was
intent on causing her bodily harm, made it worse.

Had she brought home a homicidal maniac? Was he about to
kill her?

The terror that surged up must’ve shown on her face because
he suddenly came to his senses. He gave his head a shake. His expression
cleared and, letting go, he eased off her and slid back onto his side of the
bed.

“Sorry about that. I thought…” His words trailed off, and he
covered his eyes with one arm as if he needed a moment to pull himself
together.

Her heart was now pounding in unison with her head. But once
she could speak somewhat normally, she prompted him to finish his sentence.
“Thought what?”

His lips turned down. “Never mind. I was dreaming.”

She pressed a hand to her chest as though she could slow her
galloping pulse. “It couldn’t have been a pleasant dream.”

“They never are,” he muttered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

New York
Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Brenda Novak is the author of more
than fifty books. A four-time Rita nominee, she has won many awards, including
the National Reader’s Choice, the Bookseller’s Best, the Book Buyer’s Best, the
Daphne, and the Holt Medallion. She also runs an annual on-line auction for
diabetes research every May at www.brendanovak.com (her youngest son has this
disease). To date, she’s raised over $2 million. For more about Brenda, please
visitwww.brendanovak.com.

Monday, October 27, 2014

When the Groundhog Saddle Company
awards twenty-six-year-old freelance photographer and divorcee, Adrian Barlow
the coveted assignment of advertising their saddles and other leather products,
she jumps at the opportunity. Her bank account is in dire need of replenishing
and her reputation as a photographer hangs by a shred over a bottomless abyss.
Even when her employer informs her that her duties include playing babysitter
for the two cowboys they hired for the job, she doesn’t complain. She needs the
money too much to be fussy.

Texan rodeo stars Wade Randall
and Maverick Green agree to play fashion model for a couple of months because
Wade needs the money to buy his own ranch in Texas and Maverick must rest his
injured shoulder. However, nothing prepared them for the sight of Adrian when
she collects them at the OR Tambo International Airport in South Africa.

The attraction between the three
is instantaneous and the sexual tension so thick it clogs up the interior of
Adrian’s four-wheel-drive Toyota Land Cruiser, but none of them are in the
market for a serious relationship. Adrian’s past sexual mistakes caused her
financial misery and she has no desire for a repeat performance while the men’s
plans for life exclude permanent partners for a long time to come.

Isolated on a working farm in the
Highveld of the Mpumalanga Province, Adrian is unable to resist the sexual
pleasures the two cowboys promise. With the firm understanding that none of
them wants a serious relationship, they embark on a journey of sexual discovery
that melts the cold winter days.

However, when old acquaintances
from Adrian’s past arrive, she learns that over-indulgence always comes at a
price…

Excerpt:

Wade Randall gripped the armrest
while the plane hurtled towards the OR Tambo airport. The fuselage screeched as
turbulence shook the metal frame. Fear dried the saliva in his mouth to dust
and sent his heart ramming against his ribcage. Around him, passengers prepared
for the imminent landing with muted but excited voices. How could they be so
calm? Didn’t they know that landing was the most dangerous part of flying?

For the past half-hour, he’d
watched as the buildings beneath the plane grew larger. The colourful rooftops
failed to brighten the bleak South African winter landscape. What was he
thinking, climbing aboard an aeroplane to fly halfway around the world to star
in a commercial? He was a rodeo cowboy, not a fashion model. A stubborn bull he
could handle, but prancing around in front of a camera?

He sighed and glanced at his
companion fidgeting in his seat. Maverick Green had been his best friend since
he could remember and the reason Wade was sitting in the plane. When Maverick’s
friend who owned a saddle manufacturing company asked if he knew of two
reasonably handsome cowboys he could use in his advertisement, Maverick had
immediately volunteered the two of them, knowing Wade could use the money.

“Remember, this was your idea,”
he said as Maverick moved his long legs to find a more comfortable spot.

Maverick grimaced. “Don’t remind
me. My ass has to have changed into a square box after sitting this long.”

“How’s your shoulder holding up?”

Maverick touched his left
shoulder. “Okay, I guess. I wouldn’t mind getting out of this seat, though.“”

Wade was short on sympathy. It
served him right that he had to cramp his big frame into the narrow seat and
ended up resembling the Hunchback from Notre Dame for most of the flight. After
all, this whole thing was Maverick’s idea.

Although his own bum felt like a
thousand horses had trampled over it, Wade was used to roughing it. Maverick,
on the other hand, never had to withstand the rougher side of life unless he
thought it might be an adventure—which almost never happened. After nearly a
day and a half of waiting at airports and squeezing into airplane seats, Wade
was just about ready to return home.

If only the money the Groundhog
Saddle Company had offered them to advertise the saddles wasn’t so good, he’d
be on the first plane out of here. After this job, the balance in his savings
account would be enough to buy his ranch. He closed his eyes as the ranch he’d
set his heart on, flashed in his mind. Yep, even if he knew absolutely nothing
about promoting products or acting like god’s gift to women in front of the
camera, the payoff would be worth it. Besides, like Maverick had said, how
difficult could it be to test a couple of saddles, smile their endorsement and
collect their paycheque?

Ylette Pearson flavours her
writing by drawing from her own experiences as Public Prosecutor, Magistrate,
Commissioner of the Children’s Court and admitted attorney in South Africa. She
loves to travel to remote locations on the African continent with her husband
of more than twenty-five years.

She currently resides on a small
vegetable and sheep farm in the Highveld of the Mpumalanga Province. When not
in the veld, she can be found reading or writing in the shade of a tree with
her three Jack Russels at her feet.

FEATURE-LENGTH SCRIPTS – Registered trilogy: adaptation of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court by Mark Twain, adaptation of KASIWC, and original script The Once and Future Queen; all available upon request.

Morgan le Fay, 6th-century Queen of Gore and the only major character not killed off by Mark Twain in A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, vows revenge upon the Yankee Hank Morgan. She casts a spell to take her to 1879 Connecticut so she may waylay Sir Boss before he can travel back in time to destroy her world. But the spell misses by 300 miles and 200 years, landing her in the Washington, D.C., of 2079, replete with flying limousines, hovering office buildings, virtual-reality television, and sundry other technological marvels.

Whatever is a time-displaced queen of magic and minions to do? Why, rebuild her kingdom, of course—two kingdoms, in fact: as Campaign Boss for the reelection of American President Malory Beckham Hinton, and as owner of the London Knights world-champion baseball franchise.

Written as though by the old master himself, King Arthur’s Sister in Washington’s Court by Mark Twain as channeled by Kim Iverson Headlee offers laughs, love, and a candid look at American society, popular culture, politics, baseball...and the human heart.

CLARICE HELPED ME pack my clothing and accessories for the relocation to London: just what I would need for the first brace of weeks, which amounted to eight large traveling cases, one of which was devoted to my hair accoutrements and cosmetics. Not long after arriving in this century, Clarice had introduced me to these wonderful products, which allowed me to create the same visual effect as I had done for decades with the aid of magic; now you sit privy to the secret of how I could cast ever so many enchantments for President Malory and remain looking as glorious as ever.

While I was yet sorting through my garments deciding which to bring and which to leave, my thoughts turned toward a leaving of another sort. I must have appeared sorrowful, for of a sudden Clarice asked if aught ailed me.

“I shall miss you, Clarice, when I get to London.” Since that answer represented only half the truth, I hurried on with: “And yet I know that you shall perform your duties in continuing to oversee my office here in Washington to the utmost of your considerable abilities.”

That made her smile, and she thanked me for the compliment, but her look turned shrewd. “I imagine you’ll miss President Hinton, too.”

“Of course I shall. She has become as a sister to me.”

I resumed examination of the dress I had been holding, a sexy little black thing that I would have loved to have worn only for Accolon…

“Please tell me about him,” said Clarice.

“I beg your pardon?”

The shrewd look was back. Mayhap it had never left. “Sir Accolon. Queen Morgan, you have not—um, partnered with any man of this century more often than once to my certain knowledge, since I manage your schedule. I suspect that you have not yet found anyone you like, let alone love, as well as he. No one of this era could make you go all moony-eyed while looking at a dress; therefore, you must be thinking about Accolon. So, please tell me about him.”

Ha. I knew I had chosen her as my trusted adviser for good reason, and I rewarded her accordingly. As the memories swirled about in my mind, making me yearn even more acutely for Accolon’s company, I said:

“He was a knight with very few peers during his lifetime, excepting only Sir Launcelot and Sir Gawaine. And my brother—those three were the only knights who ever bested him in single combat. So naturally, he was big—in all parts and portions—and muscular, and very strong, yet as a lover he was no brute, but as tender as any virgin maid could ever wish for. His intellect was nearly as keen as mine, as was his eagerness to assist me in righting the wrongs inflicted upon me by my brother. He had hair as glossy black as a raven’s wing, which he kept short-cropped in the old Roman style; he once said it was more comfortable under the helmet than having masses of hair stuffed up under and making the head sweat overmuch. It had a fine curl to it that I found most endearing. His eyes were an unforgettable shade of blue, and he had a strong chin that he kept clean-shaven…Lord God in heaven! Who on earth is that?”Thanks for sharing your book with us,Tina

BOOK SYNOPSIS

Their secret has been safe for hundreds of years, a legacy and legend that has been carefully kept by six guardians. They are known as the Keepers. But before the legend of the Keepers—came the Wolf.

Once upon a time, there lived a man whose fate would rest with two sisters. One will hold his heart. With her, he discovers a love that will last forever, though it will come with a price.

From the other sister, he will learn fortitude as he discovers that she holds the power to destroy all he holds dear. For as easily as one sister captures his heart, the other has found the way to trap his soul.

BUY & TBR LINKS

EXCERPT

One mountain stood off in the distance. Its peak was the highest. It grazed the heavens. It was the closest point that he could get to his love, now in the inky, deep black sky. It seemed it would be the perfect place to make his presence—and his demands—known.
The trip up the mountain took a great deal of the night, his strength had waned, but anger and determination pushed him up to the giant boulder, far above, jutting out into the night air.
The moon was beyond his reach—so close, yet, so far away. Swift Foot stood on the edge of the rock. A cool breeze greeted him, brushing softly against his cheek. He felt Shining Star had sent the breeze to touch him.
“I am here,” he told her softly, looking up into the sky. Then, he took a deep breath, and announced loudly to the Great Spirit, “I have come to speak to you.”
The breeze was replaced with a sudden burst of warm air, an acknowledgement of sorts.
He took a step forward, feeling the balls of his feet touch the edge of the rock. He was close now.
“You will put me there with her or I will die!” The raw emotion caused his voice to crack, but he knew the Great Spirit heard his demand.
A lightning bolt cracked from a cloudless sky in front of him, striking the ground below. No whispering voices came to his mind or thundering ones either. It seemed the Great Spirit wasn’t in the mood for negotiations. It wasn’t the response Swift Foot had wished to hear or see. Still, he stood on the rock, while his love watched him from her place in the heavens.
That was just as well, Swift Foot decided. He would be with her soon, with or without any help. He would never spend a day without her.
Another lightning strike lit up the sky as he lifted his arms out, and fell…

AUTHOR BIO

K.R. Thompson was raised in the Appalachian Mountains. She resides in southwestern Virginia with her husband, son, three cats and an undeterminable amount of chickens.

An avid reader and firm believer in the magic of nature, she spends her nights either reading an adventure or writing one.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Someone’s trying to kill Deanna, but is it the ghosts
she doesn’t believe in, the rich socialite who might be a murderess, or someone
else with a beef against The Gilroy Hotel and Resort that Deanna has just been
hired to manage?The Gilroy’s owners
want the ghosts, or whoever is causing the trouble at the hotel eliminated, and
they are pressuring Deanna to do the job as quickly as possible. Harry DeVeaux,
paranormal investigator comes highly recommended to do the job and against
Deanna’s better judgment, she hires him.

Although Deanna thinks Harry’s crazy for believing in
ghosts and Harry thinks Deanna has a closed mind to the possibilities of ghosts
and they highly annoy each other, sparks fly. Deanna can’t help but fantasize
about Harry and inspired by a romance convention visiting her hotel, writes her
fantasies in a private blog that Harry finds, hacks, and reads. Ooh la la!

Excerpt:

Wow!

Deanna
reread her fantasy, barely able to believe she’d penned it, wondering if she
should delete it. Did she really want to make out with Harry, a perfect
stranger, on a public beach? Did she really want her words on the Internet,
even in a supposedly private blog under a make-believe name?

Well,
it was confidential, right? As long as she didn’t give anybody the web address
or password or tell them about it, it would remain secret.

Enough
fantasizing! She had to get back to work. Dragging the files out, she
familiarized herself with the ghost sightings as well as Lynette’s and Grant’s
history. By the time she finished, she knew how they’d died and the theories
about their suicides-slash-murders. She also knew that everybody was afraid to
point fingers at the now very influential and powerful Roxanne
Cambridge-Anderson. Could Roxanne be behind the haunting [FB1]nonsense? Did she want the hotel shut down? But
that made no sense. The rumors portrayed Roxanne as a murderess. It wouldn’t be
in her best interest to keep their legend alive.

Deanna’s
temples began to ache the harder she thought about everything, so she decided
to go to sleep. Hopefully she’d awake if any hijinks took place in the bowling
alley.

About
three a.m., deafening booms awoke her. Light brightened lane fourteen and all
but one pin lay scattered on the wooden floor.

Groggy,
Deanna tried to gather her senses. She looked around then, to her horror, she
saw an iridescent figure of a man on lane fourteen picking up a glowing ball.
Collecting her presence of mind, she grabbed her webcam, pointed it at the
ghostly shape and turned it on. Shaking, she tried to hold her computer steady.
Not believing what she was seeing, she knew there had to be a rational
explanation. Perhaps some machine was projecting the image onto the lanes.
Perhaps a real person stood in front of her in glowing phosphorescent powder.

Whatever
or whoever it was, picked up the ball, and knocked down the spare pin. Then the
‘apparition’ bowled three strikes in a row.

Unexpectedly,
he turned and glared at her, fire shooting from his eyes. Pins flew from all
the lanes at her. Her heart racing, she ducked under the score table.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Texas
Deputy Bo Kildare is looking for a special kind of lady, one that is willing to
meet his special requirements. No sweet little virgin will do, he wants a woman
who knows how to please a man, perhaps two.

Recently
widowed, Sarah Elizabeth Foster-LaFever has lived in the public eye for the
last few years and wants out. Her reputation as Micah LaFever’s wife has left
her penniless and without many viable options until Bo comes calling.

Now,
she believes she found the perfect man until her past rears its ugly head. Can
murder and corrupt dealings keep these two lovers from making it to the alter?

Excerpt:

“Why Bo Kildare? You’re just the
man I’ve been looking for.”

The fridge wind and the chilling
words sent a shiver down Bo’s spine. His foot faltered on the wooden planks of
the sidewalk. For months now he’d dodged every married woman in the territory.
All of them had joined forces and decided he needed a wife. More mothers than
he could name had introduced him to their daughters. Some even offered dowries
for a quick marriage proposal. He’d manage to avoid the snare of virginal bride
but it had been a close call a time or two.

As the deputy of Walker County, he
had to be nice to the general population, but his patience was fried. After his
long trip from Austin, and with another three or four hours ride before he’d
reach his ranch, he didn’t need this hassle right now.

Forcing a smile on his face, he
turned.

Madeline Cowden, his only friend in
this war against the plot to get him devoted wife, stepped forward and wrapped
her arm through his. “I believe I have the answer to that little problem you’re
having.”

He grinned, delighted with the news
that she might have found him a suitable lady to meet his unique situation.
“Good. Why don’t we get in out of this bitter breeze and discuss the matter?”

Monday, October 20, 2014

Lightning doesn’t
strike the same place twice. In theory. But in one small town, in one family,
that theory is put to the test.

Growing up in a rural
town in Massachusetts was supposed to be safe, but for SILVIE CHILDS, that
safety was shattered by a kidnapping attempt that forever changed her life.
Now, nearly twenty years later, that sense of safety is challenged again by the
kidnapping attempt on her young niece, and Silvie is left struggling with one
question: How can something like this happen twice in one family?

It is a dilemma shared
by NICK FAHEY, the detective assigned to the case. Arriving on the scene of the
abduction attempt, Nick expects to run a routine investigation. Until he meets
the victim, the niece of a woman he once considered a dear friend.
Unfortunately, these days Silvie Childs can barely stand the sight of him.

Once there was a time
when Silvie Childs worshipped Nick Fahey, believing he could do no wrong. Until
the accident that nearly killed her brother; the accident that Nick reportedly
caused. Coming on the heels of her own near abduction, the accident skewed
Silvie’s ability to trust men – especially Nick. But now, with the attempt on
her niece’s safety, Silvie finds herself in the untenable position of having to
trust Nick to bring the kidnapper to justice.

That trust is severely
tested when, after only two months, the case is closed for lack of new
evidence. Feeling betrayed by the system in which she works as a paralegal and
by Nick, Silvie takes matters into her own hands. Contacting local news
stations to generate interest in the case, allowing herself to be filmed
hanging sketches of the suspect on telephone poles, she will risk her own
safety to protect that of her niece. When her efforts re-open the wounds of her
past, she is once again forced to put her trust in the one man who still has
the power to hurt her – Nick.

“What’s this?” he asked, cupping her face in his hand and running the thumb along the lower edge of her too-full lips. “A little hint of maturity? Silvie Childs apologizing?”

She nipped his thumb at the jibe, not hard, just enough that he hissed out a breath in reaction. All hint of humor fled from him. He was intent, serious now, every nerve in his body on high alert. “Is that how you want to play it?” he whispered, his voice guttural. “Huh?” He moved a little closer to her, maneuvering her up against the open door. Slipped his thumb between her lips, parting them. “You think we’ve danced around this enough for one day, hmm?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her lips brushed against his thumb as she spoke, igniting a spark within him. Interesting.

“Liar,” he said as he dipped his head close enough to replace his thumb with his lips. But he didn’t. Instead, he skimmed his lips along her cheekbone to her right ear, flicked his tongue along the rim of the opening. Into her ear, he whispered, “When you stop lying to yourself, I’ll give you what you want.”

She grabbed the hand he still cupped her face with, the gesture almost – convulsive. Hmm, what was that about? Her breath in his ear sent a shiver throughout his body. “And what,” she whispered against his cheek, “do you think I want?”

He nipped her earlobe, smiled at her shocked gasp. Soothing the nip with a flick of his tongue, he murmured, “Oh, I don’t know.” Into her ear, “Think about it.” Sliding his lips along her cheek as he withdrew, he couldn’t resist allowing the tip of his tongue to flit across her lips in parting. When she opened her mouth as if in protest, he warned, “Uh-ah, you’ve got to stop lying to yourself first.”

She slipped her fingers into his hair, grabbing hanks of it to anchor his head and prevent his retreat. He resisted the urge to smile – and to kiss her when she made the overture to him. He merely slipped his thumb back over her lips, using it as a barrier between them. When she cast him a pleading look, he asked, “Do you still hate me?”

“Yes,” she admitted when he slid his thumb away, releasing her lips from captivity. “More than ever.”

He smiled and angled his head, as if preparing to kiss her. “Why?” he asked instead.

“You know why!”

“Mm,” he murmured, accepting that as her answer. “And who do you hate more right now?” He dipped his head a little closer. “Me, because I won’t do what you want – or you, because you want it?”

“Me, all me,” she whispered as she swooped in close and took what she wanted from him. What he allowed her to take from him. Voraciously.

Good Lord, he thought moments before she pulled away, shock at her own actions clearly written on her face. Where had she learned to kiss like that?

“Ah, Silvie,” he said, dragging his thumb over her full lower lip before he favored her with a lingering, open-mouthed kiss, “I don’t think you hate me as much as you think you do.” He pulled back before she could respond – to his words or his kiss – and jogged down the three short steps from her front porch to the walkway. “Goodnight, Silvie,” he called over a shoulder. “Lock the door behind me.”

A versatile author who likes to write in multiple genres, Margay Leah Justice is the published author of three books: Nora's Soul, Sloane Wolf and The Scent of Humanity. In her free time, she can be found penning her new story, reading (of course!) or knitting up something warm and toasty for her family.